


John Watson's Favors

by panther118



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Ice Play, M/M, Masturbation, Mirrors, Mutual Masturbation, Oral Sex, Shower Sex, Smut (eventually), cross dressing, deduction kink, john's dogtags
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-09
Updated: 2014-02-20
Packaged: 2018-01-04 04:49:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 15,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1076727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/panther118/pseuds/panther118
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When John Watson asks his pal DI Lestrade for a favor helping him to catch Sherlock's attention, he promises him one in return. The resulting nights of hilarity, passion and mystery are more than he ever expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. John Watson Asks for a Favor

“What kind of favour?” Lestrade looked at John warily over the rim of his pint. 

“Sherlock isn’t always, you know, aware of the obvious, you know?” John leaned forward and whispered. “I can’t seem to get him to cotton on Greg. I can’t.”

“The obvious?” Lestrade’s eyes widened. “You mean you two aren’t shagging yet? After all the women who’ve dumped you? After all the time you’ve spent together? You still aren’t shagging?”

“Thanks, mate, really.” John huffed, shoving his glass back onto the bar, “I probably ought to do this on my own anyway, is that it?” 

“No, no, I’ll help. Tell me what to do.” 

“I just need you to make him a little jealous, Greg, that’s all.”

“And what do I get in return, then? You know he’s going to make me miserable,” the DI countered quickly, seeing the loo door open. 

“I’ll tell that new lad in IT that you’re divorce is finally over and you fancy him,” John grinned. 

“Done,” Lestrade said, sliding his hand over John’s and grinning back. “Lines?”

“None,” John said, scooting his stool closer to Greg. “Do your worst.”

“I intend to,” he responded, allowing his voice to become louder as Sherlock approached them. “Sherlock, mate, come back over. John and I just had this little wager. You can settle it for us. You’re the expert.” 

“On what, exactly,” Sherlock responded, his eyes flicking from Greg’s hands to his smile to John before propping himself on a stool beside John. 

“John says the new lad in IT at Bart’s isn’t gay,” Greg said. “I think he is. It’s to do with the way he walks, I say. He practically shouts it.”

“Ugh,” Sherlock snorted in disgust. “Do you really have to go for the obvious ones Lestrade? Honestly. Could you be more predictable? Of course he’s gay. And it’s nothing to do with his walk. He walks that way because of his shoes. It’s to do with the eye liner. Really John, I know you’re general oblivious but I thought even you would notice him.” 

“Eyeliner, he doesn’t wear eyeliner to work,” John said indignantly.

“Of course not, do keep up,” Sherlock rolled his eyes at Lestrade. 

“I don’t get it either.” 

“It’s the traces. He never gets them off completely. He works at night as a female impersonator. Honestly, the two of you. We saw him two weeks ago at that private club Mycroft owns. He wears waterproof eyeliner, it’s only practical you know, and he doesn’t always get it off. How did the two of you not make the connection. Here I thought you fancied him, Lestrade.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” the DI laughed uncomfortably. Scooting closer to John he slid his arms around the smaller man’s back. “I rather like them more masculine, if you know what I mean. I like a man who’s a little rough and tumble.”

“Do you,” John smiled, looking into his eyes, a slight flush on his face. “How rough and tumble do you like your fellows Lestrade?”

“Ah, the closet kinks come out,” Sherlock sneered, signaling for another pint from the barkeep. Reaching between Lestrade and John rudely, he grabbed the pint and pulled it between their arms. “Do go on, Greg. Apparently John is on pins and needles.”

“Sod off, mate,” Lestrade winked at Sherlock playfully before sliding his fingers below John’s collar and pulling out his dog tags, toying with them before letting them fall against John’s chest. “I’m just saying a man who knows his way around the battlefield and a body would be a good time, that’s all. I’ve been missing a playmate who knows what he’s doing and doesn’t frighten easily.”

“Is that so,” John replied breathily, leaning in closer to the older detective his lips parted slightly. 

“What the hell?” Lestrade jumped back suddenly. “Honestly, Sherlock, is that necessary?”

John looked down at the beer in Lestrade’s lap and smothered a smile. “Here, Greg, let’s go to the loo and get you all wiped up.”

“No,” Sherlock interrupted. “Lestrade you can go home and change, can’t you? I think I’ve had a few too many. I’m never this clumsy. John, I need you to help me get a cab back to the flat.”

“The hell you do,” John laughed, looping his arm through Lestrade’s. “We’ll be just a few minutes.”

“John, I really don’t feel well,” he said, reaching behind him and handing the doctor his coat. “Please.”

“It’s alright mate,” Lestrade winked. “I’ll catch up with you later.”

“Alright, Sherlock, let’s get you home,” John put on a resigned face, trying to look as though he were martyring himself for letting an easy shag go. As they stepped out onto the curb and hailed a cab Sherlock put his arm around John, ostensibly to steady himself. 

Once in the cab he turned to John, his eyes oddly bright. “Did you have to be so obvious,” he said.

“About what?” John asked, all innocence. 

“If you wanted me to leave so you could be alone with Greg, all you had to do was ask. Why’d you even invite me along anyway?” Sherlock huffed. “As if I want to watch Lestrade and the man I-“

“You what,” John asked, sliding closer to him. 

“Nothing,” Sherlock looked out the window.

“Obvious,” John grinned at him before tugging at his scarf and drawing his face closer to him. “I was trying to make you jealous, you dolt.”  
Sherlock’s eyes widened as John leaned in and kissed him deeply, his tongue running along his upper lip. 

“It worked,” he murmured breathily as he drew John closer. 

“I thought you were going to hit him,” John grinned into Sherlock’s mouth as they kissed, his hands finally, finally tangling in that glorious riot of curls. 

“It was an option I considered when he had ahold of your dog tags,” he responded, running his hands up the doctor’s chest to play with them.

“Oy, lads, that’s enough.” The cabbie called to them. “No shagging in my taxi, you hear?”

“Right,” John laughed, reaching into his pocket to look at his phone.

“Message?” Sherlock asked, his eyes never leaving John’s face.

“Yes,” John laughed, holding up his phone. 

You owe me a new pair of pants and another night at Mycroft’s club, Watston. -GL


	2. In Which John Watson Sins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John finally gets Sherlock back to Baker Street and out of his clothes. Sherlock teaches John the beginning of what sin can be.

It was almost torturous, the ride in the cab, having waited all those years. John was nearly breathless with wanting as Sherlock alternated between stroking his long, elegant hands up and down his chest, allowing them to tangle in his dog tags and shooting dirty looks at the cabbie. John smothered yet another smile as he let his hands roam freely, finally able to touch Sherlock as he had always wanted. 

It was almost overwhelming. Where did you start when you had access to the person you desired most? John settled for drawing Sherlock back into him and kissing him deeply. While he explored his mouth John let his hands untangle from the riot of ebony curls and feather down over Sherlock’s face- tracing his eyebrows, cheekbones and neckline. 

“Alright boys, Baker Street, out you get. Looks like the three of us all got better things to be getting on with.” The cabby snickered and then tipped his cap to them as Sherlock shoved what looked to be an indecent amount of bills over the seat.

“Keep the change,” he said sharply, tugging at John and practically dragging him up the stairs and into the flat. “Come on Dr. Watson, I have plans for you.”

“Right you are,” John said breathlessly as they took the stairs two at a time, bursting into the flat rather unceremoniously. 

Sherlock turned to look at John, a predatory gleam in his eyes. “I’ll admit, John, you had me fooled. A clever play- I didn’t see it coming. You and Lestrade? Very clever. “

“I thought so,” John said shamelessly, stalking forward to Sherlock and divesting him of his coat. “Didn’t think I was ever going to get you to notice me the way I wanted you to.”

“I noticed,” Sherlock trailed his fingers along John’s neck, down under the collar of his button down, teasing the skin at his collarbone before pulling away. 

“About time you did something about it,” John murmured, pulling his jumper off and tossing it to the side carelessly. “You now.”

“Me now, what?”

“Oh for sweet pity’s sake,” he said, exasperated. Reaching out, he took the collar of Sherlock’s gorgeous black button down and tugged. The detective’s eyes widened as the buttons popped off and scattered on the floor. Biting his lip in appreciation, John stepped back and admired the expanse of pale flesh he had exposed. “Do you need me to keep on, or shall I let you undress yourself?”

“I didn’t realize I was undressing, John. You could have said so,” Sherlock playfully huffed. 

“To quote the sexiest man I know, ‘obvious,’” John laughed, tugging at the buttons on his own shirt. 

“You are rather playful, aren’t you,” Sherlock smiled, pulling John closer. “I like it.”

John gasped at the feeling of Sherlock’s skin on his own. The beauty of all that glowing flesh had not prepared him for the heat of their bodies pressed tight together. He slid his hands beneath the ragged remains of the black shirt and stroked up Sherlock’s back, reveling as he arched against him, pressing all that warm, indulgent beauty against him again.   
He barely noticed the silk slithering to the floor as Sherlock once again captured his mouth and explored, tasting him skillfully as he stroked his back and drew him towards the sofa. Heat spiraled through the doctor as they collapsed on it together- Sherlock riding him down and pressing him into the cushions. John coiled himself around the young detective drawing him closer with his legs, moaning as his arousal pressed against Sherlock’s through the fabric of their trousers. 

Gasping, he pulled back slightly as Sherlock caught ahold of his dog tags yet again, twisting them to the side so he could trail his lips down the broad expanse of his chest. “I could take those off, you know,” he offered, reaching for the chain.

“I’d rather you not,” Sherlock responded huskily. “I rather like the idea of the sounds they’re going to make later.”

“Sherlock,” he groaned back lustily, “That’s absolutely sinful.”

“You have no idea, John,” he replied, sliding his hands between them and under the band of the doctor’s trousers. He began stroking him firmly through his pants, teasing and nipping at him with his fingers. “I have so many sinful things I want to do. We haven’t even begun yet. This is not sinful.”

“No,” John gasped as Sherlock, “I’d be interested to see it then.”

“Of course,” he replied, shucking John’s pants and tossing them to the side. “I have any number of sinful things we can be doing.”

Sherlock stood momentarily, sliding his belt from their loops and setting it carefully on the side table. Dropping his trousers he smiled as John’s eyes grew wide at the sight of his cock straining inside his pants. He reached down to stroke himself, exposing evermore of his shaft to John’s hungry gaze. “Are you ready, John?”

“Yes,” he breathed back, eyes never leaving the young detective’s glorious body. 

“Good. Touch yourself for me. If you’re anything like me, these past years have been torture.”

“They have,” he replied, raising his eyebrows, “Though I hardly see how we’re being terribly naughty by having a wank. God knows I’ve thought of you enough times that I’ve passed the point of thinking it wrong.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, John. You’re going to tease and pleasure yourself for me; slowly, torturously, painfully,” Sherlock replied, settling onto the opposite end of the couch and spreading his legs wide so the doctor could see his every move. “You’re going to tell me aloud all of the fantasies you’ve had, all the things you want to do to me. When you’ve almost driven us both to the edge with your filthy mouth, you’re going to stop.”

“Is that right,” John panted, taking himself in hand and drawing his fingers languorously up his shaft. “What happens when I stop?”

“Then I’ll take you to my bedroom and show you the box under my bed,” Sherlock purred. 

“And then?”

“And then the real sinning starts.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right. Chapter Two. Share your thoughts. I'll be hiding at my desk, right?


	3. Frozen to The Bone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John goes hot and cold in Sherlock's bedroom.

“Sherlock,” John panted, “I think we had better get on with that plan of yours if you don’t want me to be completely useless for the rest of the evening.”

The doctor looked at his flatmate between his spread legs, his hand slowing as he gazed across the couch. The sight of Sherlock with his head thrown back- his throat exposed, his chest tight and heaving as he ran his hands below his hips and onto his thighs- a gasp upon his lips , was absolutely maddening. 

“John,” he breathed as his lifted his head and leveled his cool blue gaze on him. 

“Sherlock,” John whimpered, releasing himself entirely in an effort to control himself. “Remember? You told me to stop when we got to the edge. There’s a box under your bed that you wanted me to see?”

“Ah, yes,” Sherlock closed his eyes resignedly and slid his legs to the side of the couch. “That was the plan, wasn’t it? Please, John, do make yourself comfortable on my bed. No need to dress. I’ll be right in.”

John looked wonderingly at Sherlock as he disappeared out of the front room. Standing, he stretched and made his way into Sherlock’s room, trying not to feel self-conscious as he did. How many times had he imagined throwing himself on the coverlet, exposed and excited, and waiting to seduce his flat-mate? How many times had he wondered what secrets the room concealed? Now, as he waited on the bed, he looked around freely. The furnishings were so sparse, he could hardly deduce anything the way Sherlock surely would (or possibly already had?) upon examining his room. He shifted slightly on the bed, feeling the chill air of the cool December evening on his body. He briefly contemplated crawling beneath the duvet, but decided to wait to see what Sherlock had planned.

He didn’t have long to wonder as the man himself sauntered into the room, a glass of ice water in one hand, his erection still straining. John made a firm effort to look away from the delicious sight of his body and instead focus on the heat in Sherlock’s gaze. 

“Ah, I see you have made yourself comfortable,” he observed dryly. “Though not as much as I might have hoped. Look at you, John, you’re positively flagging.”   
John flushed as his eyes traveled down to see that the heat flushing his skin minutes before had indeed cooled. “I am sure you can help me with that, if you like.”

“Oh, I plan to,” Sherlock returned with a wicked gleam in his eyes. “Let me get the rest of what we need and I promise you John, you will not be disappointed.”

The young man turned and gave John a delicious look of his body up close as he kneeled to retrieve the box from under the bed. Once he had straightened he glanced over his shoulder with a sly look and walked slowly over to the window ledge with the cedar box he had retrieved, again giving John an eyeful- this time of the broad expanse of his back and of his glorious bum. John’s mouth went dry as he let his gaze drift lower to the faint hint of velvet skin that hung between his legs and hinted at the weight and beauty that John knew was on the other side.

“Now, John, as a military man I assume you are quite used to taking orders,” he began slowly. “Does this ability extend to the bedroom?”

“It does, yeah, on occasion,” John responded, lifting his eyebrows questioningly. “Are you planning on ordering me around?”

“Not just yet, but I do have a few things in this little box here that would facilitate that, if you like that sort of thing. But no, tonight I have something different planned.” With a soft look at John, almost tender, he removed a small black bottle from the box and set it aside. Pulling back the curtain, he reached for the window.

“I’m a little chilly, Sherlock, if you don’t mind,” John interrupted the action hastily. 

“I don’t,” he returned, “but I shall open the window anyway. I promised you sin, and I promise you heat as well. Trust me.”

“Of course,” John nodded, his eyes following his progress back to the side of the bed. John shifted, drawing closer to Sherlock in an attempt to keep himself warm as well as be near his flatmate. How did you feel sexy when your toes were beginning to tingle? “Really, Sherlock, I-“

The younger man interrupted cut him off, pressing him into the bed and kissing him deeply. John groaned at the warm silken feel of their bodies pressed together. Trailing his hands up Sherlock’s back, he thrust his hips up, reveling in the feeling of their erections sliding smoothly against one another. He could feel the other man’s grin in his kiss as they twined around each other, Sherlock finding a comfortable place to one side of John, the smaller man’s leg slipped over one hip, baring his chest and hips. 

Casually, languidly, Sherlock shifted them into the draft from the window. As he did, he reached to the glass on the nightstand and retrieved it, taking a large drink from it before returning it to the spot behind him without looking. Slowly, carefully, he lowered his mouth to John’s again, breathing into him gently. 

The chill of Sherlock’s breath left John with no doubt as to Sherlock’s plan. “Sherlock,” he whimpered, drinking in the frost of his kiss hungrily, twisting his hips as the detective’s slightly chilled fingers trailed down his stomach to his surging erection. The feeling of Sherlock’s hand on his cock was both hot and chill, the strength of his strokes sending coils of hot, straining tension through him even as his snowy kiss was teasing cool and heat on his mouth. 

“Yes, my John,” he responded, trailing his now warm mouth down John’s neck and across to his collarbone. “Problem?”

“No,” John gasped as Sherlock’s long, deft fingers worked their magic on his body. “None.”

“Good.” 

Sherlock pulled away again, leaving John bare on the bed as he straddled the smaller man’s hips, raised above his body, showing of his luminous skin in all of its glory. John gazed hungrily at his body, his hand reaching out to graze his hip bones, sharp as his cheeks and just as deliciously soft, while Sherlock retrieved another piece of ice from the glass. Playfully swatting at John’s hand, he lowered himself again, sliding lower down, his body pinning John down, flooding his stomach and legs with delicious heat. 

John threw his head back and moaned, tangling his hands in Sherlock’s hair as the young detective slid his mouth over one of John’s nipples, playing and nipping at it while applying another cube he had hidden in his hand to the top of the chain where the dog tags that still tangled in the sparse golden hairs on his chest. The weight and heat of Sherlock’s body kept him in place, though he bucked at the chill that continued to torture him just as the warmth of Sherlock’s arousal pressed against his thigh did. 

“Please, Sherlock,” he gasped. 

“You don’t like it?” Sherlock pulled back, curls falling in his eyes, his lips swollen from playing across his chest. 

“No, no, I do,” John protested, reaching down and guiding Sherlock’s hand to his weeping cock. “I just don’t know if I can stand the teasing, not with all we’ve done already tonight.”

“As you wish,” he nodded. Reaching across to the nightstand he retrieved the black bottle and poured a fair amount of the clear fluid inside it into his palms. “Shhh.” 

His smile was deliciously naughty as his slid his palm down John’s straining erection, slicking it liberally with the lubricant. 

“My god,” John gasped. “Cold, so cold.”

“But then,” Sherlock smiled as he knelt between John’s legs. 

“Warm,” John groaned, pushing his hips towards Sherlock’s waiting lips as the liquid changed from chill to warm. “So warm.”

“And now, hot.”

With a wicked gleam in his eyes he lowered his mouth over John’s erection, swallowing nearly to the base, engulfing it in the hot, wet heat of his mouth. John cried out, throwing his arms over his head, clutching at the pillow as Sherlock tempted and teased every part of his cock with his mouth. The soft feeling of his tongue was maddening as he swirled it from tip to base, drawing in his cheeks and swallowing hard, drawing John in ever deeper. Just when John thought he had reached his limit Sherlock would draw back, stroking him lightly with the tips of his fingers, teasing his thighs and the soft skin of his sack while giving the tip of his cock a gentle suckle. 

“Please,” he gasped, pressing his fingers to the back of Sherlock’s neck, trying desperately to draw him close again. 

Sherlock moaned around him happily as he swallowed him once more, releasing John and moving his fingers up to tease his nipples as he held him firmly with his other hand, stroking and devouring John as deeply as possible. Heat curled through John’s body, drawing up through his legs, into his cock and spiraling up and out as he shouted the detective’s name, shivering and shaking as his pleasured wracked his body. Sherlock hummed happily as he drank John deeply, pulling away with fire and satisfaction in his eyes. 

“That was amazing,” John sighed as the other man slid up next to him, sliding his hand below his back and cradling John. 

“Are you still cold John?”

“Not in the slightest, he laughed,” tracing the line of Sherlock’s jaw. “But I think we’ve neglected to get you as hot as possible.”

“Not at all,” Sherlock drawled with a smile. “I’m merely letting you cool down. We’ve just begun.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I feel like I could have done a lot more with this chapter, but I wasn't sure if I was ready to push all the way through yet. Feedback is always helpful. I feel like the boys are about to get really naughty. I'm pretty sure. And plot- I swear we'll get to one of those too.


	4. Fluff and Favors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Sherlock try to have breakfast the morning after. Things do not go as planned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the holidays meant a hiatus, but now that they're all over I should be able to update frequently. I've got a list as long as my arm of things I'd love our boys to get up to. If you've got suggestions, I'd be delighted to hear them!

John gave Sherlock a bleary-eyed smile as he set his cup back into its saucer and stretched across the sofa. The lack of sleep was not new to him, but the delicious feeling of relief certainly was. Here he lay, after years of yearning, able to completely take in Sherlock’s beauty without having to hide it. And Sherlock, for once, was not making an effort to be modest.

The young detective grinned back lazily and tossed himself carelessly on the sofa next to John, his legs tangling up with his. Deliberately, slowly, he stretched, arching his back and giving John a chance to admire the pale expanse of his chest before readjusting his dressing gown so his chest was fairly covered.

“Tease,” John mumbled, reaching for a scone.

“Of course,” the younger man replied. “Now that I’ve got your attention I plan on teasing you frequently.”

“You’ve always had my attention, Sherlock,” John glanced at him. “Even if you didn’t know it.”

“Oh I knew you cared for me John, obviously.” Sherlock stretched his leg out and poked the doctor in the side with his toes teasingly. “I just hadn’t observed how much you admired me.”

“Good thing I did something about it, then,” John laughed, pinching the tip of Sherlock’s toes. “You would’ve left me to the tender mercies of another, no doubt.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes and huffed. “As if it weren’t torturous watching you all these years already. Honestly John. If it wasn’t some demanding female it was a younger, obnoxious bloke you and Lestrade thought would make for a good time. Ugh, I don’t know how I didn’t notice it before, now that I think about it. All those curly haired women. Raven haired twenty something men who were just a tad heroin chic for your normal tastes…”

“Alright, then,” John leaned across and popped a piece of the scone into Sherlock’s still moving mouth. “Enough of that. We can just be getting on with things, I’d say.”

“Getting on with things?”

John reached out and shamelessly pulled the detective into his arms. “Yes, I can think of much better things to do than listen to you _finally_ deduce that I’ve been mad about you for years.”

“Tell me,” Sherlock breathed.

“Show, you mean,” he responded with a smile.

“Show is excellent,” Sherlock sighed as he settled against John’s chest, snuggling into the warmth of it.

John tilted his head back, enjoying the feeling of Sherlock’s weight against him. The soft clink of his dog tags elicited a soft sigh from him as he remembered the feeling of the younger man’s hands on him the night before. Lifting his hips slightly, he tangled his hands in his curls as Sherlock’s fingers threaded their way up his chest and to his throat. His groin tightened deliciously as he felt Sherlock stirring as well, pressing back against his hips eagerly. The feeling of their arousal, growing together, was intoxicating. John’s hands found their way to his back, stroking it firmly, leaving soft scratches along the length of his spine. As their chests and hips met again, his arms constricted, pulling Sherlock even more tightly to him- his hands strong and confident as they slid down his sides and to his hips. 

The young detective shucked his dressing gown quickly, murmuring to John as he did, “I must confess, Watson, I never excepted- even in my fantasies- that you would be so eager. I fully expected you to want to take things slowly. I deduced that you would be tired after our play last night.”

“I am,” John murmured as his nipped at Sherlock’s neck. “But that doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy a good snog in the morning.”

“Doesn’t it,” Sherlock’s eyes glittered as the doctor worked his mouth back down to his collarbone. “So you do want to take things slowly.”

“I want every moment of my glorious indulgence with you to be savored, Sherlock,” John breathed. “I want to enjoy every second of this. I’ve waited so long for you.”

“And you shall have me, every bit of me,” he promised.

“But not today, lads, if I get a say,” came a voice from the doorway.  

“Lestrade,” John gasped as he struggled to sit upright on the sofa.

“Not the name I was hoping to hear you say,” Sherlock quipped as he reached for a blanket at the end of the sofa. Leaning back, he tossed it over himself and settled against the doctor’s chest. “Do calm yourself, John. I suppose Lestrade’s seen much worse than this.”

“Not with the two of you,” the silver haired DI laughed, settling onto the chair opposite them and grabbing a scone from the plate John had filled earlier. “Though I might have called first, I suppose. Mrs. Hudson let me in. I’ll let you lads work out a system with her, then, so this doesn’t happen again.”

“Is there a reason you’re here, Greg,” John glared at him over Sherlock’s shoulder. “Business of some sort?”

“Listen to you, mate,” he winked at them. “Turning as rude as your boyfriend. Didn’t think he’d rub off that fast.”

“Ghastly pun,” the detective snorted. “I assure you Lestrade, next time you and John head out for drinks he’ll tell you in any amount of detail you request exactly what and how I’m rubbing for him, but I promise you its anything but fast. Now, business. I thought told you to look at the daughter’s boyfriend. Perfectly obvious the second you have a look at him and then her room.”

“As a matter of fact, we did get the young man to the station on your advice. But I’m here for business with John. He owes me a pair of trousers. And a favor.”

“Trousers,” Sherlock raised his eyebrows. “I imagine you’re referring to last night. I’ll replace them Lestrade, of course. Not that you didn’t have it coming…”

“I admit, that was the goal,” Greg laughed. “John got your attention, didn’t he? Look at you now, all cozy and warm on the sofa together, covered up with your blanket.”

“Mrs. Hudson made it,” Sherlock glanced down at the fuzzy concoction.

“About the favor,” John said, running his hand cross Sherlock’s chest with a lazy smile. “I can’t imagine why it couldn’t wait.”

“Well, he’s preforming tonight, isn’t he?” Lestrade looked at them both hopefully. “Remember, the lad at Bart’s?”

“Obvious,” Sherlock sighed, tilting his head back onto Johns shoulder and snuggling his bum closer between the doctor’s thighs. “So you need me to call Mycroft and get us passes then.”

“Well, that would help,” Lestrade stretched his legs out and crossed them. “I mean, I’m not going to get in there on my own, am I? I figured you lads wouldn’t mind a night out, now that you’ve got yourselves all settled. I mean, it is settled right?”

“I suppose you could put it that way,” John nodded, wrapping his arms around Sherlock tightly and nuzzling into the detective’s neck.

“My god, you two are going to be unbearable.” Greg rolled his eyes.

“Your fault mate,” John laughed.

“I’m glad for it, honestly.” He grinned. “The tension between the two of you was distracting. To everyone. The betting pool on you two at the Yard is one of the longest running and most hotly contested.”

“I suppose you’re about to win,” Sherlock interjected.

“Enough to pay for all the drinks tonight and then some,” Lestrade laughed. “You lads won’t let it out I helped with the scheme will you?”

“Not at all,” John smiled. “Not if there’s a pint in the deal for me.”

“Good.” Lestrade stood. “I’ll leave you to it. Call me with the details.”

“Done,” Sherlock nodded. “Now get out. I was busy.”

John chuffed at the sound of the DI’s laughed trailing down the stairs. “Good man, Greg.”

“Absolutely,” Sherlock agreed. “But I think we’re going to have to install a lock. Maybe this afternoon. After I call Mycroft.”

“This afternoon?”

“Yes, I’ve got plans for a busy morning,” the detective replied, sliding his hands down the length of John’s legs.

“Fine by me.”

“I deduced as much.”


	5. In the Shower, Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John takes a shower in anticipation of a night out on the town and is interrupted- a not uncommon occurrence in Baker Street.

If there was one thing that John Watson really loved it was a nice, long shower. After years in the service and never having enough time or hot water to enjoy himself he made it a point to take his time whenever he cleaned up. He’d even been known to indulge in a bath every now and again- provided Sherlock was out of the house- nothing spoiled a relaxing bath faster than listening to Sherlock call out to him things he needed while John was indisposed. Shaking his head as he pulled his shirt over his head, he recalled the many times he _hadn’t_ made it through a shower or bath in peace thanks to Sherlock.

There was the time when he had stuck his head in to alert John to the fact that his experiment was beginning to “smell worse” because of the steam from the shower and demand that he lower the temperature of the water. Another time John had just settled in to a bath when he had stomped in, yanked shut the shower curtain and proceeded to have what John could only imagine was one of the most back-breaking, arse-tearing shits of all time given the sounds he made.  Shortly after his breakup with Jeanette he had decided to try and “help” around the house to make John feel better- and managed to use an exorbitant amount of hot water cleaning while John was trying to shower. He might as well have thrown ice cubes at him over the curtain rod.

One of the worst times was during a particularly bad dry spell with dating that also coincided with one of the hottest London summers on record. Sherlock had spent an inordinate amount of time running around the flat in his pants, and undershirt and his work goggles. The sight of him leaning over the table or hunched at his laptop and covered in a sheen of sweat had driven John half-mad. Sherlock had been elbows deep in an experiment of some sort when John had slipped into the bathroom hoping to relieve the pain of the heat and the heaviness in his groin- to no avail. He had no more than taken himself in hand than Sherlock was sticking his head in the door and asking him if he could wait on it for a couple hours.

_“Wait on what?”_

_“Wanking. Its distracting.” Sherlock’s voice implied that it should have been obvious what he was talking about._

_“Who said I was wanking,” John had demanded indignantly._

_“Of course you were,” Sherlock said in an exasperated tone. “Its nearly thirty three degrees out and you’ve had that look all day.”_

_“What look?”_

_“The one you have when you really need to get off,” had been his curt reply. “I’m nearly done. Give it a few hours and I’ll be down at the Yard talking to Lestrade. You can wank then.”_

He had shut the door with a snap- leaving John standing in the spray, cock in hand, utterly unsatisfied and completely frustrated.

There had even been once John had contemplated mentioning an interruption on his blog. The only time he had ever seen Sherlock turn away a case despite it not being boring. The client in question had contacted Sherlock via email and scheduled to come by the flat. Sherlock had talked about it the entire night before his appointment- boring John through what would have been an excellent curry otherwise. Unfortunately Sherlock had slipped out without telling anyone where he had gone. The client had rung and Mrs. Hudson- always assuming the doorbell was being ignored or it was broken again- let the poor chap up. Upon finding no one in the front room he had taken it upon himself to look for Sherlock. He managed to stumble into the loo just as John was getting out of a bath- and just as Sherlock was stalking down the hall looking for John. The result was a hilarious (if embarrassing!) scene in which the client did not know where to look and Sherlock, unreasonably irritated, tossed him from the flat after laying into him about learning to “respect the boundaries of others- especially strangers.” John would have given anything for a recording of that speech.

A soft smile lit John’s face as he contemplated the idea that he might not have to worry about being interrupted- for the wrong reason at least- when he was trying to bathe. Perhaps he could…

“Sherlock,” John stuck his head out the bathroom door, raising his voice slightly.

“John, I’m rather busy at the moment,” the younger man called back from somewhere in the vicinity of the kitchen. “If we are going out with Lestrade tonight I need to wrap up just a few things.”

“That’s fine,” John called back. “Just thought I would let you know I was getting in the shower. You know, naked. All on my own. Just now. So you didn’t wonder where I was.”

“Right.”

“Right then.” John shrugged and turned the tap on- turning the hot tap as high as it would go. One of the great things about the Baker Street building was that the water heaters were ancient- and thus ran very hot. With a shudder he recalled the barely tepid water at Harry and Clara’s luxurious flat when he had first come back from Afghanistan.

_“It’s not mean to be that hot,” Harry had protested when John complained about never having hot water. “It’s the latest thing, John. Regulations. The heater is brand new- they just don’t make them to go over 49° now. It’s to keep you from burning yourself.”_

Fortunately, Mrs. Hudson had never bothered upgrading the water heater and he could roast to his heart’s content in the shower at 221B.   With a sigh of delight he stepped into the steaming shower and ducked under the spray. The pounding of the water on his back was almost instantly relaxing. John took another deep breath and let go of the tension in his shoulders and neck. Tilting his head back, he allowed the rivulets of water to stream into his face as he indulged in the decadent smell of bar and sex washing off his body. Eyes closed, he instinctively reached for the shampoo and threaded his fingers through his close-clipped locks. A groan and enjoyment slipped from his lips as he raked his fingers across his scalp- scrubbing a little harder than necessary because it felt deliciously good.

“Sounds like you’re having a nice time.” Sherlock’s rich voice came like a forbidden dream from the other side of the shower curtain.

“Yeah, its good,” John replied, inching the hot tap higher. “Relaxing.”

“I had a moment of illumination John,” Sherlock continued. “Just after you turned on the shower.”

“Did you,” John raised an eyebrow he knew the younger man would hear in his voice. He reached for the soap. “That’s interesting.”

“Yes, I deduced that you want me to join you in the shower.”

John turned as the curtain was pulled back and Sherlock stepped into the shower. The detective wrapped his arms around John’s waist and leaned them both into the spray. John pressed against him, amazed at how warm his body was naturally against his own.

“I see. What else did you deduce?”

“Observe. You want me to scrub your back.”

“Do I? How did you observe that?”

“Anyone who has seen you with any person you’ve dated and actually paid attention would see it. You have a back fetish. Jeanette was particularly bad about stroking and scratching at your back when I was in the room. She was threatened by me. It was habit- keep you turned on and perhaps you wouldn’t be thinking of me.” Sherlock smiled and chuckled deeply.

“It didn’t work,” John murmured.

“No?”

“Of course not,” John chuckled. “It’s very hard to ignore you when you’re in a room. Here- take this and get to work. I want to indulge as long as the water is hot and it’s not often I have a companion who offers to scrub my back.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I didn't get all of this chapter done because I actually have to go to bed or I'm never going to wake up for work in the morning. Dull, I know, but unfortunately true. The rest will go up tomorrow night and yes, there will be a little naughtiness. I swear I'm getting to the plot, and some serious smut. Swear. 
> 
> Comments, suggestions, ideas and plain old friend making conversations are always welcome!


	6. In The Shower, Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John finally gets Sherlock in the shower with him.

Sherlock chuckled deeply as he took the sponge John had tossed over his shoulder. He deftly reached around the smaller man to grab the bar of soap in his hand and work a rich lather. John shivered in delight as Sherlock wrapped an arm around his waist- drawing him tight to him- and began to scrub his back. Unable to resist, he wriggled his arse tight against Sherlock’s, savoring the feeling of his body nestled tight against him.

“Another thing I can check off my list,” John laughed breathily. “You have no idea how many times I was tempted to tell you to join me when you interrupted me.”

“Is that so,” Sherlock murmured.

“Yeah,” he nodded. “There’s something sexy about being wet all over, don’t you think?”

“Undoubtedly.”  Sherlock tossed the loofah aside and turned the doctor to him, pressing his back into the spray as his fingers splayed deftly across his back. He lowered his mouth to John’s, kissing him deeply as he kneaded the strong planes of his back, occasionally pausing to nip at his lower lip or scratch lightly along his shoulder blades.

John arched like a cat into his touch- his nerves singing with pleasure, his breath coming faster. The heat of the water and the warmth of Sherlock’s body combined with the overwhelming sensation of you detective’s hands and mouth were making him painfully aroused. His thoughts chased the steam up and out as Sherlock lowered his mouth to his neck and his hands teased and tickled his shoulder blades. It was impossible to think with Sherlock nipping at his collarbone and probing each muscle in his back, like he was tapping out the pattern of his arousal with the pads of his fingers.

The press and release of their bodies was hypnotic, the water flowing down over their faces, tickling their lips as they kissed one another. The press of their chests together and apart created a sexy waterfall that filled as they ground together, their lips drinking hungrily from the other’s body and then crashing down over their arousals in a wave of heated excess. John whimpered at the feeling of Sherlock’s cock straining against his stomach, teasing him with each brush as he reveled in the taste of the younger man’s skin in his mouth.

Sherlock’s curls turned to a mass of raven silk as the water poured down over them. Gently, John pushed them back from his face. Smiling, Sherlock cupped the doctor’s face in his hands, drawing him into another deep kiss- his tongue delving deep and tasting the velvet inside of his mouth.

“You taste just as I hoped you would,” he murmured to him before turning John slowly to the tiled wall of the shower and pressing him gently against it.

“How’s that?” John gasped at the cool tile under his skin and the feeling of Sherlock’s arousal pressed between his arse cheeks.

“Like citrus and bergamot,” he whispered, his mouth brushing delicately over the nape of John’s neck. “Like the sun and comfort.”

“The sun, eh,” John whimpered as Sherlock’s hands snaked from his back toward his hips.

“Yes,” he hissed as he slid his fingers down the doctor’s arousal to the base of his cock. “Like late night tea and the first splash of an orange on your tongue on Boxing Day. Keep your hands on the tile now, lover. I want to please you again.”

The sound of Sherlock’s voice whispering romantic nothings fluttered around John’s head, almost distracting him from the deft strokes he was applying to his erection.  The heat from the water was nothing compared to the pure electric fire that spiraled up from the heaviest part of his balls to the tip of his cock as the younger man pleasured him. With a flick of his thumb the detective had John reeling and bucking back against him.

“Not yet, John,” came the whispered kiss just behind his ear. “We’re going to take our time together. This is just a start. Just a tease, my dear Doctor Watson.”

“Please,” John moaned shamelessly. “Sherlock, please.”

“A taste, perhaps,” he conceded. “But believe me when I say, we are going to wait to finish this. I want a long night with you before we are together like that. I want to bury myself in you, John. Not yet, but I promise you I will.”

“Promise,” he breathed as Sherlock pressed him back to the tile, reaching away long enough to flick the tap hotter.

“Promise.”

John spread his legs slightly as Sherlock reached back down and slid his hand over his own arousal. Slowly, he slipped his length between John’s thighs, the head of his erection kissing the back of John’s scrotum. The smaller man bucked lightly as Sherlock reached around and began to stroke him again, slowly, teasingly, as he pressed his erection between John’s thighs. Drawing back, he allowed his length to move upwards, teasing the folds of John’s arse, kissing his anus teasingly before pressing back down to tease him again.

“Tease,” John moaned into the wall.

“Only a little,” Sherlock smiled before bending his head and nipping and his shoulders. Sherlock reveled in the feeling of John shuddering and whimpering in his arms, helpless in his passion for him. With a rumble of pleasure deep in his throat Sherlock bit down harder and tightened his grip on John’s erection, lengthening his strokes and increasing their speed and intensity.  

Pleasure spiraled through John, threatening to take is knees from him. Steam and sparks danced behind his closed eyes as Sherlock pressed his chest hard against him and applied his hands and tongue with skill to his body. The sound of the young detective’s voice echoed through John’s mind, mingling with images of the night before, the taste of his skin and the glorious flicks of his fingers.

“Sherlock,” John gasped as his pleasure broke over him in a wave of pleasure, longing and relief.

“That’s it, John, finish for me.” Sherlock responded, pulling him back against him. Cradling John gently, he turned him back to the spray and gently stroked off the remnants of his orgasm, kissing his neck happily before turning off the tap.

“Sherlock,” John mumbled, tilting his head back against his chest. “Are you ever going to let me have a go?”

“Of course,” he laughed. “Tonight, perhaps. But I find that I have waited so long to please you, John, I just can’t restrain myself. For now, though, you will have to allow me to towel you off. Lestrade will be quite annoyed if we miss Mycroft and can’t get the VIP treatment tonight. We’re going to be late.”

“Mycroft,” John snorted. Turning his head to press a kiss against Sherlock’s arm he grinned into it. “Fine. But tonight you go first.”

“I look forward to it John.”  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I finally finished this chapter! One whole chapter of pure, unadulterated naughtiness just for you. (Okay, and maybe a bit for me!)
> 
> As always, I will be thrilled with comments, notes, suggestions, prompts and any other sort of love in general.


	7. Gypsies at the Carousel Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John, Sherlock and Lestrade spend an evening at Mycroft's Carousel Club. Sherlock secures their entrance for a mysterious favor. The men debate what they might know about Lestrade's mysterious crush at Bart's.

The Carousel Club was tucked away on the outskirts London; a quiet, elegant building that was classic in its proportions and architecture. The brick edifice with traditional white trim and iron gated entrance smacked of expensive taste and aristocracy. The tree-lined street was quiet and posh. In short, it was everything you would expect in a club, were you to envision that it was owned by Mycroft Holmes; which was just as well, since he had been operating The Carousel Club since his early twenties.

Inspired by days gone by, Mycroft had envisioned a place where the eclectic and elite of London (and eventually, all of Europe) could relax in comfort. Too long had there been a need for a supper club with entertainment and dancing more appropriate to those who longed for a waltz, a foxtrot, or a risqué samba on occasion. Quietly, quickly, Mycroft had filled that need- hiring the best chefs available, a discreet staff and the best entertainers. He ruthlessly rejected anything that was too cliché, too gauche, too much. His abhorrence of what he called “the flashing lights and oily body” scene ensured that every night his club was filled with the sometimes eccentric, but always quality, upper class. After two decades admittance to the club was exclusively screened by Mr. Holmes himself, and rigid standards were maintained.

It was, of course, an excellent place to maintain a presence in the political scene that was both discreet and powerful. If you were anyone in British politics you were seen at The Carousel. If you were emerging or climbing the social ladder securing entrance was one of your first goals. It was a hotbed of political intrigue, secret affaires, and high-stakes business deals. All of this suited Mycroft Holmes just fine, of course. His abhorrence of boredom was almost as acute as his younger brother’s.

It was this palace of class and mystery that John found himself approaching at half-seven the night after he had finally drawn Sherlock’s attention. With a glance over his shoulder to ascertain the Greg and Sherlock were going to emerge from the sleek black Town Car that Mycroft had sent, he adjusted his dinner jacket. His eyes settled on Mycroft-  alone figure lingering at the top of the handsomely carved steps.

“Ah, John,” he said with a thin lipped smile. “Excellent to see you this evening. DI Lestrade. Ah, and my baby brother. Do hope you’ve brought all the things that you need to complete the arrangements for this evening?”

“Of course,” Sherlock said with a roll of his eyes. “Have your man bring the things from the boot to the back of the club. It’s all arranged of course.”

“Of course,” Mycroft nodded again before turning to Greg and John. “Gentlemen, it is my pleasure to welcome you to the Carousel Club as premiere members. Tonight will be the last time that you will require my assistance to obtain invitations. From now on you need only ring the morning you plan to attend and supper will be laid for you at the best tables.”

“That’s very generous of you,” Lestrade offered his hand to Mycroft. The older man took the tips of his fingers with a polite smile.

“It is nothing. Sherlock, of course, is the one who arranged everything. I am, if nothing, a businessman and I could not pass up the opportunity he lay before me this evening. Please, do go in and relax. It will not be long before dinner is served.

A word, Sherlock, before you join them.”

With a shrug and a smile, John squeezed Sherlock’s elbow and turned to the entrance with Greg. After checking their coats they allowed themselves to be allowed into the immense main room of the club. At the top of the room they could see everything as they were escorted down richly carpeted stairs to a quiet table close to the flat performance floor on the main level of the club. A quick survey of the room revealed nothing untoward- heavy black velvet curtains draped the walls and the background of that traditional dance floor. In one corner, hidden delicately behind a painted screen, was a small orchestra put where the musicians would sit during the course of the evening. The acoustics, Sherlock had told John, were excellent and the area had been specifically designed to allow concealment of the help while allowing the music to drift over the guests unhindered.

It wasn’t long after John and Greg had settled in that Sherlock joined them, accompanied by a sommelier bearing a bottle of wine.

“Mr. Holmes sends you gentlemen this bottle, the finest in the house, with his compliments. He asks me to please tell Mr. Holmes the younger and Dr. Watson he sends his best regards to you both. He also asks me to please tell you he is delighted you have, ahem, gotten on with it finally.” With flushed cheeks he quickly opened the bottle and poured glasses for the three of them. “I am also meant to assure you that this vintage will be available to you all evening, and that it will not interfere with the flavor of the meal.”

“That’s all,” Sherlock nodded his dismissal, raising his glass to John and Lestrade and sipping the ruby liquid.

“You know,” Greg leaned in with a quick smile, “If I didn’t know any better I would say Mycroft was better at deduction that you. If he bloody knows the two of you are shagging just by looking at the two of you…its almost obscene. Of course, I won’t complain. This is an excellent vintage and he gave us lifetime memberships, gratis. How did you manage that?”

“Yes, Sherlock,” John looked at him inquisitively. “How did you manage that?”

“Ah, well,” Sherlock raised the glass to his lips again, looking slightly abashed, “When I requested seats to this evening’s event he required that I pay him with a favor. Given the nature of his request I stipulated that you both would be welcome for as long as the club was open. Incidentally, Lestrade, _that_ is how he deduced that John and I have consummated our affection for one another. He knew I was asking a favor on John’s behalf and only my desire to please John would compel me to do what he has asked.”

“Which is?” John raised an eyebrow.

“Its best left for later. Dinner is about to be served and I doubt you’ll want to miss a single thing on the menu tonight. Mycroft tells me his French chef has been having fits trying to prepare for this evening’s theme.”

“Which is,” Lestrade looked around questioningly, searching for a clue to the entertainment for the evening.

“ _Under the stars with the Romani_ ,” Sherlock replied, handing them both a gilded card that looked suspiciously like a business card. “Something like this will appear at your office, or at home, whenever you’ve booked for an evening. Once a month you’ll receive word of a special theme evening.”

“Romani,” Lestrade looked at John.

“It’s a polite word for gypsies,” John grinned. “I imagine your little friend, if he’s preforming tonight, will be dressed as a gypsy.”

“I can verify that,” Sherlock nodded. “Apparently he’s a very talented dancer, and will be preforming as himself this evening. Did you know that he has Hungarian heritage?”

“How would I know that?” Lestrade shook his head and glanced down at the menu resting lightly on the plate in front of him. “Snail soup?”

“Traditional dish, of course,” Sherlock nodded. Glancing at the horrified looks on John and Lestrade’s faces he huffed a sigh. “Oh, for heaven’s sake. You’d eat escargot wouldn’t you? I promise it’s delicious. The rest of the meal will be completely to your tastes- full of onions and potatoes and meat. Lots of wild game and probably some creatively prepared steak. There will even be some crusty bread to go with it. Mycroft’s pastry chef is world renown.”

“Sounds lovely, Sherlock,” John said, reaching under the table to stroke his knee. “Thank you, truly. Whatever you had to do to get Mycroft to agree to this, I appreciate it.”

“It’s nothing, John,” the young detective smiled over his wine. “I’m happy to do it for you.”

“You two are going to be bloody disgusting now that you’ve admitted how you feel, aren’t you,” Lestrade laughed.

“Speaking of how you feel, have you got any information on the gentleman we’re here to see, or am I the one holding all the cards again,” Sherlock responded, deflecting the conversation from himself as the waiters began to distribute the soup course. “Judging by your blank look, no, you do not have any additional information on him?”

“Well,” Lestrade shrugged. “I know he’s one of the new lab guys at Bart’s. His name is Cam, I think. He’s got bloody gorgeous eyes and a nice tan? Lord, Sherlock, what am I supposed to know?”

“Oh, nothing Greg,” Sherlock rolled his eyes, lifting his spoon to his lips with a glance at the other two men. “Honestly, who would expect you to take time to find out anything about the man? Am I the only one who’s discovered he’s clearly an academic, likely graduated with high marks at University, worked his way through, which is why he has no problem taking a job that pays well but will require him to work with his hands? He’s used to it. And he must have done the medical for his parents, he’s paying off his school debts by working here…he clearly has talent or Mycroft wouldn’t have hired him. He’s going to be a handful, Greg.”

“Bloody hell, I’d ask you how you know all those things but I suppose it’s something perfectly obvious, isn’t it?”

“In part, I also took the time to inquire of his employer, since I know him,” Sherlock grinned. “Sometimes there are benefits to being Mycroft’s brother.”

“I imagine Mycroft feels the same way about you sometimes,” John laughed, waving his soup away to the waiter.

“Oh, I’m sure he feels I have my advantages. Clearly he wouldn’t be allowing all of us here if he didn’t find it to his benefit somehow. I imagine I’ll be doing some observing for him before it’s all over. Too many things go on here for him to catch it all. I don’t care how well trained the staff is to observe.” Sherlock glanced at the waiter hovering over their table, clearly addressing his snide remark to him as well as the table in general. Gentlemen, if you’ll excuse me for the main course, I have to speak with my brother.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter got away from me so I decided to split it into two. I'm sorry, that means this first part is a bit like getting settled in, but I wanted you to really feel things. 
> 
> So...what has Sherlock bargained to Mycroft? When will we see the handsome Cam? Will he take an interest in Lestrade? Will all the men survive the soup???? Only part 2 can tell you!
> 
> Seriously. Thanks for reading. This fic is already a huge journey for me. Just seeing you all have stopped by is thrilling me to the tips of my toes. I love comments, feedback, suggestions and conversation in general. *hugs all around*


	8. Gypsies at the Carousel Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When John and Greg discover where Sherlock's run off to, they're both in for a treat.

The last of the cheese course had been carried away when Johjn noticed movement in the corner where the screen his the musicians. Clearly it was almost time to start the entertainment for the evening. There was traditionally a break between the cheese course and the dessert course so that the members of the club could stretch, preview the evening’s entertainment and relax. It also afforded the chef a brief respite before he launched into dessert with the pastry chef’s aid.

“If we weren’t in Mycroft’s club I would worry about Sherlock,” he said to Lestrade, scanning the room for signs of the youner man.

“I wouldn’t worry about it John,” Greg responded. “He’ll be back when he can. No doubt Mycroft has him doing whatever it is he arranged to do to get us in here for the evening. Maybe he has him washing dishes!”

“Hardly,” Laughed John. “I won’t let him touch ours for fear of what he would do to them! Surely Mycroft knows better. Oh, look, I think the entertainment is starting.”

The lights in the room dimmed considerably as the waiters finished topping off the glasses of the members. The room suddenly took on a mysterious  glow as candles flickered on the tabletops and from sconces in the walls. In the center of the floor, backed by the thick black curtains, a tall and slender figure appeared. John sucked in his breath sharply. He knew that silhouette. It had haunted his every waking fantasy- and most of his dreams- since the moment he had returned from Afghanistan. It was the body of a man who could enchant with his voice, tease with his mouth and move mountains with the silk of his skin brushing gently over John’s.

“Sherlock,” Lestrade whispered in amazement as the lights lifted slightly.

John nodded as Sherlock stepped forward and raised his Stradivarius to his shoulder. The room disappeared as John’s hungry gaze swept over his lover’s body. He had shed his jacket and swapped his dinner shirt for one of brilliant red silk. The color highlighted the paleness of his skin, the brilliant sparkle of his eyes and the silken toss of his raven curls. Over his black trousers and pair of deliciously supple black leather boots chased up his calves to his knees. John’s lips parted of their own accord at the delicious sight of Sherlock, dressed as a gypsy, his shirt half undone, the pale expanse of his shirt gleaming in the candlelight.

But then he began to play. A dreamy smile crept over Sherlock’s lips as he drew the bow across the strings of his violin, coaxing a rich, low note from it that quickly chased its trilling way upwards, turning to a sweet and chillingly high note that caused the crystal in John’s hand to vibrate delicately.  Down it tumbled again, drawing sweet, soulful sounds that made John want to sway and dance. Even as it did, Sherlock’s body moved slowly, sweeping low and then arching back.

Lightly, he stroked the strings of his Stradivarius with the bow, plying his fingers deftly across them, a slight smile on his face before he let loose. Taking a step forward, he moved lightly on his feet as his song took flight, the notes chasing like trilling birds up the scale. His eyes took on a delicious fire as he worked the strings, passion flowing as clearly from the violin and his soft, fluid movements as they had when he had stroked John’s back in the shower hours earlier.

John sighed and set his glass down, a look of bliss on his face as the gentle teasing tune swept over him. The look in Sherlock’s eyes told him that this was for him- the joy of the music, the laughter in the strings, the soulful pleasure with which the notes tumbled one over the other in rapid succession. The genius detective was making love to him in the most unique and beautiful way he knew how. He was playing John the resonant and glorious sound of passion and new love. Gently, he slowed, allowing the music to float over them with the tenderness of a first kiss before allowing it to fly over them once more, reminding John of those first frantic moments in the cab as they kissed before chasing one another up the stairs in glorious anticipation of what was to come.

With a flourish, Sherlock drew the bow up and away from himself one last time and flung his arms open wide. His black curls fell into his eyes as he bowed low before the company. With a second flourish he tossed his head back and clicked his heels together sharply.  

With a shout the gentlemen in the room leapt to their feet and applauded. John looked across the table at Lestrade with a grin.  “Quite the show off, isn’t he? I wonder if this is the favor that Mycroft called in.”

“Must be,” Greg laughed. “I’m sure you know it, but Sherlock is one of the most talented violinists in England, maybe most of Europe. It’s a shame sometimes that he doesn’t play more often. I heard him once, just before he met you, and I asked him why he didn’t. Said he didn’t like to play for those who wouldn’t appreciate it.”

“Well, he plays for me quite often,” John smiled. “I suppose I’m lucky.”

“And my point made,” Lestrade said. Turning back to the open floor, his eyes widened. “I think he’s not done yet.”

“Looks like he has company this time,” John added with a smile.

Sherlock had raised the violin back to his shoulder with a smile. With quick, confident strides he walked sharply to the side of the open area and began to play a quick and lively tune. This one jumped and trilled almost immediately. Stomping loudly with his right heel, he called sharply in a language john didn’t recognize. But the call was unmistakable. Immediately three beautiful young men stepped from behind the curtain. They rushed forward, dancing with agile grace.

John grinned as Greg sucked in his breath, his eyes fixed on the man in the front, who was dancing alone with the encouragement of the two behind him. He smiled with genuine pleasure and his feet moved in the complicated steps, his hands clapping and his fingers snapping brightly to the trill of Sherlock’s Stradivarius. His dark locks shone brightly in the lights, his dark eyes glittering with pleasure and concentration as he moved.  As the dance wound down John saw Greg leaned forward, his lips parted, his breathing fast. John leaned back in his chair and hoped that he didn’t look half as hungry as his friend looked when Sherlock was playing alone.

As they finished, the room exploded in applause again as the dancers and Sherlock bowed and left the stage. A few minutes later, Sherlock came from behind the curtain and crossed the room, the young gypsy dancer at his side.  John and Lestrade stood as they approached the table. John went to Sherlock and quickly pressed a kiss into his palm.

“Sherlock, that was lovely,” he said frankly. “Absolutely amazing.”

“Thank you,” Sherlock returned, a rumble of pleasure in his voice. “I hoped you would like it. Gentlemen, let me introduce you to Camlo. He works at Bart’s by day, you might have met him there, but tonight he is sharing his genius in traditional dance forms with us. Cam, this is my John, I told you about him earlier. And this is our good friend Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade. He’s the best man they’ve got at the Yard.”

Cam held out his hand to Greg with a shy look on his face, “I have heard of you Detective Inspector. Your work on the Towerhouse case is legendary, as is your collaborations with Sherlock. I’ve heard all about you from Molly Hooper. It’s a delight to meet you in person at last.”

“Thanks, it’s nice to meet you too,” Greg said, shaking the younger man’s hand vigorously. “Won’t you sit down? Or do you have to go back now?”

“No. Sherlock and I have some time. The ladies are getting ready while the desserts are served, and I think I can manage to slip away for a few minutes.” The young man settled in next to Greg and looked across the table to Sherlock and John, who were holding hands under the table. “Sherlock tells me he has never played any Romani tunes for you before, Dr. Watson. It is a shame, he is the greatest violinist I have had the pleasure working with.”

“He is indeed talented,” John nodded, “Though there’s little need to stroke his ego. I hear him play often enough and he knows how talented he is. Greg was just telling me that he has heard Sherlock as well, and that he’s quite secretive about his talents. I am glad you got to work with him. Its one of many he possesses.”

“So Mycroft informed me before we met,” Cam grinned.

“You mean he told you he’s an arse,” Lestrade laughed.

“Well,” Cam looked at Sherlock hesitantly.

“Oh, fine.” Sherlock waved him off. “I’m a little abrupt. That’s what John says anyway.”

“I think I used the word insensitive the last time we talked about it,” John said, squeezing his hand.

“And might you be revising that opinion,” Sherlock murmured into his ear, his tone caressing and full of promise.

“Not at all,” John said shamelessly. “Having seen you at your best I am more and more convinced you at your worst is something you do on purpose.”

“Oh, come now John,” Lestrade interrupted. “You know he can’t help the deduction thing.”

“Deduction thing?” Cam looked around the table in confusion.

“Tell you what,” Lestrade smiled. “It’s more fun to see it in action. Come to the pub with us tomorrow night, if you aren’t working, and we’ll show you. Right, boys?”

“Right,” Sherlock said, caressing John’s hair lightly as he stood. “I owe Greg a beer anyway.”

“Sounds great,” Cam smiled. “I hate to go now, but it looks as though Sherlock and I must get back.”

“Excellent,” Lestrade said smoothly. “I’ll get your number and we’ll make plans tomorrow.”

John raised his eyebrows in admiration as the two men walked away from the table. “That was smooth Greg. Who says you need help.”

“I do, I swear.” Lestrade laughed, “I thought that wasn’t going to work. Thought for sure Sherlock was going to tell him how desperate I was for his number.”

“Lucky for us he didn’t,” John laughed. “Looks like we have a double date.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finally got this one finished off. I know there wasn't anything particularly sexy about this one, but I did really enjoy writing this particular chapter. If your'e interested, I was listening to David Garret play the Csardas while I was writing Sherlock playing for John. Its a traditional Hungarian folk song, and while it is debatable whether or not it is originally a gypsy tune, it was certainly popular with them, and played fairly frequently around the fires. 
> 
> If you're interested in gypsy dance, you can look at traditional Romani dance on youtube, or google the Romafest Gypsy Theater for group dances. Its actually pretty interesting. 
> 
> As always, I am open to comments, conversation, suggestions, tips and requests. I'm thrilled you're here. 
> 
> Next time we get a trip to the pub and some serious deduction kink. I won't leave you hanging, Promise.


	9. The Gobby Swan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As promised, the boys meet Greg and Cam out for a night at the bar where Sherlock shows off his deduction prowess and John gets an idea of how to use it for his own purposes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to make the note, in case there's confusion, that my Cam is not in any way related to CAM or any of the characters from the series. That was just my bad luck. Cam is short for Camlo, which is a Romani name that means "Beautiful."

The Gobby Swan was a far cry from The Carousel Club- in location and appearance. Only the most devoted dive chaser would know how to find it- having to duck in and out of various dodgy looking alleys in London and keep a sharp eye peeled for the rust red door inconspicuously tucked against a wall of solid brick. Above it, looking almost as though it had been etched in chalk, a cheeky looking swan- bearing a jeweled crown and a beak the seemed to sass even the wall that was it home- preened the best way it knew how in the dim light its backstreet home.

Inside, it was a cozy little hole with high booth walls, old rock and roll records and posters on the walls and a solid concrete floor made to be scuffed and shuffled about on. The main part of the room was dominated by a maple colored bar, nicked and scarred from years of abuse by the Swan’s equally gobby patrons. The room was cast with a delicious golden glow provided by the heavy lamps hanging on chains and illuminating windowless room. It was nearly timeless- excepting, of course, it’s brilliantly lit modern looking jukebox in one corner and the young, outgoing, sometimes flamboyant patrons that crowded into its tables and booths.

At the far side of the bar, feet hooked into his barstool, eyes glued to the door, John Watson sat waiting for the rest of the group to arrive. A quick glance at his watch showed that he was five minutes early- no small feat since he had come straight from the office after a quick shower and shave.  Still, Sherlock had mentioned he would be at The Yard that morning and that meant he and Greg would likely arrive together and late. It came as no surprise to John that it was Cam whom he spotted first- standing a little uncertainly just inside the doorway, his jacket draped casually across his arm, dangling slightly where his hand met his pocket. John raised his hand and grinned as Cam met his eye and made his way swiftly over.

“Bit dodgy looking, isn’t it?” He greeted John with a slap on the back, sliding onto the stool to his right. “I assume Greg and Sherlock will be taking those two to your left, since they’re closest to the wall?”

“Got that right,” John answered with a nod. “I’d say both of them are paranoid but after working with them long enough…well, I’m sure you’ll get to hear plenty of their war stories without me helping.”

Cam tossed back his head and laughed a rich, deep laugh that belied his young face. “I don’t suppose adventure seekers like us ever really tire of their stories do we? I know listening to Sherlock talk about the work the three of you do while we were backstage at the club was fascinating. He speaks very highly of your abilities.”

“Does he,” John raised an eyebrow. “Nice to hear it from someone.”

“Mums the word then,” Cam grinned, “Can’t let on you know he brags about you when you aren’t around. Do you think they’ll be terribly late? I was worried all day Greg was going to call and say you couldn’t make it or something and try to reschedule another time.” The younger man made air quotes around “reschedule” and nodded at John with a significant look.

“”Oh I doubt that,” John said comfortingly. “I think Sherlock isn’t going to let Greg off the hook for tonight since we were at The Carousel for him.”

“Why’s that?”

“Damnit,” John muttered to himself. “Shut it John. Oh look- here’s the boys now. Thank god Sherlock looks decent. He comes out in all sorts of conditions if you don’t force him to clean up.”

“Really?”

“Oh, lord, there was one time when we first started living with each other he took the tube carrying a giant harpoon covered in pig’s blood from head to toe. It was bloody disgusting!”

“Well, none of the cabs would take me,” Sherlock interjected, sliding his arm around John’s waist and pressing his lips to his neck quickly before commandeering the stool at the end of the bar.

“Of course they wouldn’t,” Lestrade added, popping onto the stool next to Sherlock, reaching across the bar to take Cam’s hand and shake it with a jovial smile. “This nutter honestly believes if you throw enough money at a cabbie he’ll ignore the blood all over the upholstery.”

“What am I supposed to do then?” Sherlock rolled his eyes and took a long drink of his beer.

“Anderson has his car covered so it wipes down,” Greg laughed, winking at John.

“Anderson-“ Cam looked between the three of them. “That’s the forensics guy, right? The one that has a, um, well…”

“Sherlock Holmes fan club,” Greg nodded. “Bless him, he really does try. I think Sherlock coming back from the dead really messed with him.”

“Oh please,” Sherlock rolled his eyes. “He’s just not recovered from the guilt of…before. He’ll get over it eventually. Honestly, he doesn’t do bad work. His observation skills are almost decent, really. Don’t tell him I said that, though.”

“We wouldn’t dream of it,” John laughed, signaling for another whiskey. “I wouldn’t dare dream of telling Anderson you appreciate his deductions.”

“Speaking of a one trick pony,” Lestrade said, standing to move over towards Cam with what John noticed was a desperately casual look on his face, “take a look at all the men in the room. Pick one, any of them.”

Cam glanced out over the room with a curious look on his face. Sherlock slid onto Lestrade’s stool, leaning into John and nuzzling his ear gently. “He we go, love, I know you like when I do this.”

“Why am I picking a man?” Cam looked at the couple with a puzzled look. “This isn’t a swinging thing is it?”

“God no,” John laughed. His hand trailed over Sherlock’s leg lightly. “I’m not much for sharing. Even if I was, I’m pretty sure we have access to a few of Mycroft’s club memberships if we wanted to. No. Remember at the Carousel Club how we mentioned that Sherlock could be, um, unsettling sometimes?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Well, Greg’s suggesting you pick someone in the club and Sherlock will deduce him for you. You can go verify his accuracy afterwards. It’s always a good laugh. If he gets them right, we buy them a drink.” John raised his glass to his lips and sipped slowly. “He does it to everyone. I remember thinking I could use a stiff drink when he did it to me.”

“Worked out alright, though, didn’t it?” Sherlock asked.

“Beautifully,” John agreed, leaning back into the younger man. “Off you go Cam.”

“Alright then,” the younger man said, looking around the room with a smile. “How about the redhead by the pool table?”

“Oh, he’s easy. First thing you should know is he’s on a date with the young man next to him holding the cue. They both like each other, they’ve been friends for a while- notice how they stand in each other’s space without much tension? It’s new though, because he keeps touching the bridge of his nose. Clearly he normally wears glasses and he has in his contacts either because he wants to impress his date or he’s expecting to have sex with him tonight- most likely the latter since they have been touching each other frequently even though Red doesn’t need to because he isn’t playing pool.”

“Lovely,” John whispered in his ear. “What else?”

“Also, he’s a big fan of foreign culture. A look at his attire will tell you that. The picture on his t-shirt is of a fairly well known anime character. Additionally he is wearing a style of pants common to Japan. He might have mail ordered them, but likely not since his taller than most men. He’s muscular too- so wide in the waist. Chances are he had these made when he was last in Japan. This indicated he most likely also speaks Japanese. No surprise there since he had a good education.”

“How do you know that?” Cam looked at him incredulously, turning back to study the redhead more closely.

“Tell me more, Sherlock,” John murmured again, sliding two fingers in between the buttons at the bottom of his shirt, caressing his warm skin briefly before returning to his drink.  

“Obvious, isn’t it?” Sherlock’s eyes glittered brightly as he glanced at John and then back across the room. “Travels to Japan are expensive- for him to be able to visit for an extended period of time and be able to have culture specific clothing tailored? He comes from money. If he comes from money and he speaks the language- he almost have to- then he clearly learned it at University. Money and a University education that included both Japanese and Sign Language? He clearly went for leisure and it’s a good school too since he’s from a posh background- probably Oxford.”

“Wait a minute- sign language?” Greg interrupted, clearly egging Sherlock on. “How’d you know that?”

Sherlock released what could have been taken for a long suffering sigh had Greg and John not known he was enjoying showing off immensely. “Are the three of you blind? Look at him when he talks. He uses his hands all the time. Normally you could chalk this up to him being expressive or of a more dramatic nature. But no- look at the gestures he uses. When he talks he almost unconsciously uses common signs that demonstrate what he wants to say. Suggests he’s fluent. I’d guess he has an above average IQ- given the circumstances.”

“Amazing,” Cam said, looking at the three of them. “Are you sure?”

“Go get him,” Greg laughed. “We’ll see soon enough.”

“How in heaven’s name do I go get him?” Cam asked incredulously.

“Just go and tell him you’re buddy over here thinks he went to Oxford with him and wants to say hello,” John suggested with a smile.

The three of them watched with smug smiles as the younger man made his way across the bar to the redhead. Greg raised his eyebrows questioningly as the two young men began to converse.

“No worries, Greg,” John consoled him. “He likes you; it doesn’t take Sherlock to see that. I’m planning on taking him Sherlock home soon anyway. I’ll feign some sort of something we have to do and you can keep him all to yourself. But I expect a full report after. Like, tomorrow when we’re both not busy.”

“You going to be busy tonight?”

“I’m going to have Sherlock deduce me right out of my clothes, if I can,” John laughed.

“John,” Sherlock said, sounding scandalized, “I don’t think-“

“Shut-up, you,” John murmured, leaning in and running his tongue across Sherlock’s upper lip. “It’s not as though Greg doesn’t know we’re sleeping together. Besides, I like it when you do deductions and you’re going to deduce me when we get back to the flat.”

“Alright,” Sherlock breathed back, his voice tight. Suddenly he straightened up and put a huge smile on his face. “Oh hi, how are you?”

Standing next to a newly returned Cam was the redhead, looking thoroughly confused. “I’m sorry, do I know you?”

“Maybe not,” Sherlock said, tilting his head to one side. “I swore, though, we had a class together at Oxford. Weren’t you in the Japanese Cultures program? I swear I met you once.”

“I was, but…I’m afraid I don’t recall you, and I have a fairly good memory for faces. I mean, you look familiar but I don’t think…” The redhead tilted his head to one side and suddenly his expression cleared. “Wait- aren’t you that detective that faked his death a few years back? Were you hiding out a Uni? Really?”

“I’d rather keep it a secret if you don’t mind, er,” Sherlock leaned in conspiratorially.

“Henry,” the redhead supplied. “Go on then, what else do you know about me? You’re famous for that, aren’t you?”

“Other than the sign language, Japan and Oxford? Nice trousers by the way. I’d say that you should go back to your mate over there. He likes you and that fellow playing pool with him is an American only faking being interested. His pockets are to let. Not you type at all. He deserves a smart fellow like you. A genius who comes from a good family.”

“He likes me then,” Henry grinned.

“A fair way to being in love. You’ve been friends a long time. It’s a natural step. Take it from me. Go slow and be sure you pay attention to him. That’s all you need.” Sherlock nodded at John with a knowing look. “Best friends make the best lovers. Don’t let him get away.”

With a nod and a smile, the young man scurried away to the pool table, a look of pride and protectiveness on his face. Cam turned with wide eyes to the group, who laughed heartily at his astonishment. Twining his fingers with Sherlock’s, John tossed money for the drinks and one to be sent to Henry on the bar and tugged his lover to the door with a wink and a grin at Lestrade and Cam. He had plans of his own.   

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right! So next time (which will be much sooner, I swear. No more flu. I refuse!)we'll be getting some serious deduction kink and I won't be teasing anymore or panning to the sky. Good times, right? Comments, suggestions and encouragements are always welcome since I am still painfully shy. 
> 
> I love you all. (All 600 some odd of you!)


	10. In Which John Watson is Deduced Out of His Clothes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Following up on his promise, Sherlock takes John home and deduces him right out of his clothes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smut! Finally!

John stood beside his chair, legs slightly apart; his eyes never leaving Sherlock. The young detective methodically removed his scarf, gloves and coat. His eyes alight with curiosity he settled himself in his own chair. His eyes roamed over John’s body possessively, loosely. The drinks at the bar had helped to soothe the jagged edge that normally came with his inability to stop observing all the time. Instead, there was a pleasant glaze that helped soften his focus on the delicious man in front of him.

“You’re ready aren’t you,” he drawled slowly, steepling his fingers underneath his chin. “It’s written all over you.”

“Yes,” John hissed, his eyes never leaving Sherlock’s face. “This is exactly what I wanted. Do it Sherlock.”

“Do. What.” The staccato of Sherlock’s words rippled over his body like the pads of his lover’s fingertips. John shivered.

“Deduce me out of my clothes and into your bed,” he said huskily. “I know you can.”

“Oh, yes, and you want me to,” the young detective hummed happily. “Look at the tilt of your head. You’re tilting it to the side tells me how much you like this. You’re inviting me in. And your feet- open, toes pointed slightly out. You’re confident I can do this and you want it.”

John nodded. Rising, Sherlock stood and walked around him. His hand trailed lightly over the collar of John’s jumper. With a subtle slip his first and index fingers slid below the cotton and tugged lightly. “Observe, John. You know I enjoyed your ID tags before so you are wearing them again. Of course you are accustomed to wearing them, but you’ve made a point of leaving your collar open enough for me to see them. You are enticing me with them.”

Without pausing Sherlock slipped his hand, flat and hot, over John’s collarbone and down the flat of his chest. Lightly he allowed his fingers to tease lightly in the golden down there, stroking it lightly.  The heat of his body warmed John as he stepped closer, leaving no space between John’s back and his front. With his mouth hovering over the soldier’s ear he whispered seductively to him, allowing the heat of his breath and the tickle of his mouth to tease him.

“I observe you also neglected an undershirt. Since you had your clothes for this evening ready before you woke this morning I have to assume that you chose to not wear one intentionally. Could be you wanted lighter layers, but you’re usually quite fastidious. I deduce you had a two-fold desire. First, you wanted to expose your skin to me as much as possible- the same reason you’ve left your collar partially unbuttoned- something you don’t normally do. Delightful, I must admit- the subtle hint of your skin in the bar light caught my eye certainly.” He paused momentarily to lightly pinch at John’s nipple before withdrawing his hand from his shirt. As the good doctor hissed in pleasure he drew his hips back to meet his own. “A delightful idea dear John, as I have been tempted to enjoy that simple glance of flesh all evening. The second reason is obvious isn’t it? You would like as little clothing to remove as possible. How am I doing so far?”

“Perfect,” John replied, turning his head to look at Sherlock over his shoulder. “Excellent.”

“Good,” Sherlock replied, leaning in and sliding his tongue lightly across John’s top lip. “Lose the shirt, then and I’ll reward you for giving me such a delightful deduction to make.”

With no hesitation John removed his shirt and tossed it to the side. A soft shiver escaped him as Sherlock rounded him, baring his back to the cool of the room. Sherlock’s hands danced lightly across his hips, a playful dance as his lover lowered his mouth to his collarbone, licking and nipping at the sensitive flesh there. With a satisfied hum he lowered himself in front of John, his grip getting stronger as he let his mouth trail down, leaving a hot trail of kisses down the center of his chest. Moving slowly, he teased and licked his way around the band of John’s jeans and began to work his way slowly up, allowing his hands to follow his mouth. His fluttering touch sent John reeling as it worked moth-wing soft caresses up his sides. The gentle swipe of the pads of his thumbs over his nipples had the doctor gasping and steeling his legs- forcing himself to say standing. John let his head fall back as Sherlock’s mouth found the hollow at the base of his throat and suckled there for a moment before drawing back with a satisfied look in his eyes.

“Shall I keep on?”

“Christ. Yes. Keep going,” John panted.

“The next is simple-your fingers are hooked through your belt-loops. You’re subconsciously drawing attention to your pelvic area. Completely biological- but even if it had been intentional it would have been an excellent reminder to me that you are well endowed and that I enjoy having you in my mouth.”

“Sherlock,” John choked, slipping his hands out of the looped and reaching out quickly before drawing his hands back again to his sides.

“Even that, John, is a delicious indication of your desire. You want to touch me, you want my body closer to you, and you’re aching from the absence of it. Palms up? Looks like supplication, or an unconscious suggestion that I should come into your arms. Even as I step closer to you there’s no change in your body position. You like me this close. Physical intimacy between the two of us pleases you.” The detective reached down and ran his index finger firmly along the straining ridge in John’s jeans. Allowing his palm to go flat, he stepped even closer, wedging his hand between their bodies. His other hand snaked behind them, drawing John’s bare chest to the soft linen shirt he wore. “See how you arch into me, press into me? You want me John. There’s no question from your body language you are ready for me to remove your trousers and your pants. May I?”

Silently John nodded as Sherlock’s hand expertly flicked open his jeans and loosed the zipper. After laying another sensuous kiss on his shoulder Sherlock slid down his body again, dragging his jeans down with him, taking his pants in the same go. “Look at you, already straining for me John. Come with me, I want to show you how you look to me.”

Wordlessly, John followed his observant lover down the hallway to his bedroom. Closing the door with a quiet snap, he turned John towards the bedroom door and the mirror that hung on it. Behind him, Sherlock moved quickly, kicking off his shoes and removing his shirt. Moving against him again, Sherlock stood him in front of the mirror wrapping his arm around John’s chest, pressing him firmly back so that he could feel the younger man’s erection pressed firmly against his arse through the fabric of his trousers.

“Look at yourself John,” Sherlock whispered, his mouth once again close to his ear. “When I see you I see your eyes, wide and eager. Look at your mouth, lover, and how your lips are parted. You moisten them, see- just like that- and you want to wrap them around me.  I want you to, too, John. Oh, I do. And look at how your pulse quickens. Don’t object lover, I can see it barely on your neck. You’re fit John, you take good care of yourself, and when your heart is beating so fast I can see your pulse fluttering in your neck.”

Lightly, Sherlock drew his hand down to squeeze his hip. Eagerly, John pressed his hips back, desperate to feel Sherlock’s arousal again. A deep, rumbling chuckle slipped from his lover’s mouth as his fingers teased over his hips, scraping his nails lightly over his thighs and sweeping back to trace the line of his arse before resting his hand firmly against his stomach again.

“Tell me John, what are you seeing?”

“My cock,” John said throatily. “Look at it Sherlock. Look at how its jerking for you, any time you get close to it.”

“Ah, yes,” Sherlock purred. “See, even there, you are giving yourself away. You aren’t looking at your cock, but I am now. Very clever, John. You know I want it, and so you draw my attention to it. Do you think I will take your suggestion?”

“Oh god I hope so,” he replied, snaking one arm behind himself and around Sherlock’s neck, turning his head to press a hard kiss on his mouth.  “If not I hope to god you’re planning on letting me have yours.”

“Excellent deduction, John,” Sherlock breathed as he pulled away from the kiss. He reached down and quickly released the button on his trousers, allowing them to fall to the floor. With a swift movement he kicked them aside and reached to his bedside table, grabbing lubricant from inside the drawer. “No, don’t move, John. In fact, I like you watching yourself. Place your hands on either side of the mirror.”

Eyes wide, John complied as he glanced to the side and watched Sherlock liberally slick himself with lubricant. A hungry moan spilled over his lips as he watched the efficient and elegant movements of his lover’s hands. His eyes returned to the mirror as Sherlock placed himself behind him, drawing his hips backwards so that his arse was at an angle that pleased him.

“You’ll forgive me John, if I allow you to play with your cock instead of me,” he murmured as he slipped a finger inside him. “I find I cannot resist the siren call of your body a moment longer.”

“Sherlock,” John hissed in pleasure as he added another finger to the first. “Please, have me any way you like. You’ve earned it. I asked you to deduce me out of my clothes.”

“Oh, I am not done, love,” Sherlock smiled as he leaned in and licked a trail up the center of John’s back. “Turn back to the mirror and look at your eyes again. They’re blown wide. I can see your arousal. Delicious isn’t it? See how your mouth opens farther? I know I’m getting you deliciously loosened up for me. I can see the pleasure in your eyes when I do this…yes, you like when I do that with my hand, don’t you? I’ll be sure to remember that John. See how you part your legs? Look John, really look. You want me, you’re ready for me. See how you are pushing back against me? You want me inside of you.”

“Please,” John moaned.

“Of course, lover,” Sherlock smiled at him in the mirror. “Look at my eyes as well. I’ve been ready for you all night.”

Smoothly, gently, Sherlock slid his fingers out and teased John’s heavy sac as he used his other hand to position himself at his entrance. Their eyes locked as Sherlock pressed into him, slowly, confidently, gently. John gasped at the beauty of Sherlock finally filling him, pleasuring him. With a ghost of a smile, he leaned forward and then slowly pressed himself back over his lover’s impressive length.

“Tease,” Sherlock panted as John drew himself slowly over his length again. “You delight in torturing me.”

“Yeah I do,” John smiled back at him in the mirror. “But I am willing to let you take things in hand, if you like.”

“Yes?”

“Take me Sherlock.”

With a hoarse cry Sherlock gripped John’s hips more tightly, pulling him against him quickly, filling him up. John braced himself against the door as the young detective sped their cadence with strong, sure strokes. John’s eyes left the mirror as the pleasure surged through him, spinning through him with every stroke, twisting in his stomach and fluttering from his chest to his throat and down again. Sherlock’s pace increased slightly as the heaviness between his legs began to become painful and perfect.

“John,” Sherlock whispered desperately.

“Yes,” John moaned, his eyes dropping to the floor as his pleasure painted the floor and Sherlock’s pleasure erupted through his body. Leaning forward, he breathed deeply as Sherlock gently withdrew from him and leaned across his back.

“Dr. Watson, you are absolutely remarkable.”

“Thank you sir,” John said affectionately. “I feel you have just given me your finest deduction.”

“I may have,” Sherlock laughed into his back before drawing them both upright. “But now I deduce we should fall into bed and continue.”

“Sounds good to me,” John said, tugging his lover into the bed. “Tell me more of what you deduce…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to everyone for reading and putting up with my erratic posting schedule. I've only got two days off, they're not together and I have a lot of house to clean when I am off. But I swear, my Johnlock is going to b e more of a priority. I might even add some plot next chapter. We're going to need it, right? Can't have sex all the time...well, we could, but it would be boring after a while. 
> 
> Also, *ahem, puts on preacher hat* I know I did not put it in the fic, but I want everyone one to be aware, Sherlock and John would certainly have had a talk about exclusivity, protection and whether or not they had been tested after their most recent partner. You should too. Being safe is sexy and its important. Take care of yourself and be proud of it. You deserve it. *takes off preacher hat*
> 
> I love comments, suggestions and prompts!

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is my very first go at a chapter fic and I am terrified I'm going to get it wrong! Thanks for the read, I appreciate it. I know its slow going, but I'll get to all the fun and crazy stuff, I promise. Let me know if there's anything you'd like to see. I am always looking for inspiration.


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